


i don’t want to set the world on fire

by ultranos



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Abuse, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Body Horror, Crack Treated Seriously, Fire Hazard Siblings, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultranos/pseuds/ultranos
Summary: The dragons make desperate gamble, and hide their last egg as a cuckoo in a nest. A dragonling in human skin hidden among their enemies. Azula always was a bit strange.orIn which Ozai is even worse than expected, the Gaang end up with two Fire royals instead of one (sort of), and sometimes a family is a banished prince, his sister, and her two giant fire-breathing lizard parents.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 79
Kudos: 252





	1. the beginning of the end

**Author's Note:**

> Beta and general enabler: Raksha-the-demon
> 
> Yes, this is the dragon!AU I was riffing on earlier on Tumblr. Now as a proper fic. You're all welcome.
> 
> (title from The Ink Spots; chapter titles from God Is An Astronaut)

Ozai leans back on the throne as his daughter rises from her respectful bow. At least he has one child who is useful to him. He knows she’ll bring his wayward son and traitor brother back in chains. He commands it, after all, and the girl is smart enough to understand the proper ways of the world. So Ozai can allow himself to consider at least one matter of enemies to the nation handled. That would leave only the Avatar, who is by all accounts a sniveling, timid child.

Had Zhao not had the foresight to perish at the North Pole, he’d have been executed for blatant ineptitude upon setting foot on the Home Islands.

Ozai is so caught up in his thoughts that he almost misses it. It’s small, subtle. He doubts anyone else would have noticed it. But Ozai has made it a point to study his daughter, to be aware of her tells and movements. She can’t hide from him. (He knows what she is, knows how dangerous she is. He crafted her himself, and he will not allow this weapon to slip her leash. He had made that mistake with his son, apparently. He won’t make it again.)

Through the wall of flames, Ozai sees the strange marks on the back of Azula’s neck. He frowns. He is unaware of any kind of injuries she may have earned in training. But they don’t look like any kind of burn. No, these look...almost scaly.

“Azula,” he rumbles, then stops. 

She halts midstep and turns back to him, attentive.

There is nothing different in her eyes, in the rest of her face. She looks at him with the same fervent loyalty she always has. Was it merely a trick of the light?

An old story he remembers from his mother itches in the back of his mind. She would tell him tales of fierce battles between the greatest firebenders and powerful dragons, how the heroes of the nation, under his father’s order, brought the great beasts to heel under their boots. To face one in combat (to command one in combat) was a boyhood dream. (Ozai never forgave Iroh for stealing that dream away from him, like his brother had blithely stolen everything else.)

“Father? Is there something else you require?” Azula has not moved a hair, standing perfectly still and attentive in front of the throne.

Ozai stares into golden eyes unlike his own as he remembers another tale his mother told him. Different from the rest, of how a particularly wily dragon shed his form like a snake and tried to hide as a man. It was a cautionary tale, as the dragon would have gotten away with it, had not an equally crafty army captain set a trap.

Azula still looks up at him, waiting. Ozai frowns deeper. “Only that you do not disappoint me, Princess Azula.”

She bows deeply, as he deserves, once more. “I will not fail you,” she declares.

“Dismissed.”

As she strides out of the throne room, Ozai leans back. It could very well mean nothing, the foolish sentimentality rising that he must stamp down. He can scarce afford such an idiotic weakness or flights of fancy.

But.

Ozai is many things, but wrong is not one of them. He knows what he saw on the back of the girl’s neck. People dismissed the Avatar as having any kind of importance, and now they have lost the Northern Fleet. He will not make that mistake.

It is apparently time to pay the Fire Sages a visit.

——

There are few things left in this life that can surprise Fire Sage Zhijian. So when Fire Lord Ozai strides into the Temple after many years of absence, Zhijian is merely bemused. When the Fire Lord asks for council, Zhijian merely nods and leads the man to a secluded garden where they may speak in private.

But when Fire Lord Ozai speaks of dragons, of hidden dragons right in the nest, Zhijian feels his eyebrows raise higher and higher.

“Yes, I know of the potion Lady Ilah spoke. It’s said to be harmless to humans, only like bitter tea,” Zhijian says slowly. “But if a dragon or other spirit were to consume it all, it would strip any illusions from them, forcing them to tell the truth. Any lie built by them would collapse.”

Fire Lord Ozai frowns. “I would think they would know not to drink the entire thing, then.”

Zhijian shakes his head. “Ah, but it is bitter only to humans. To those who play spirit tricks? It is said to taste as the sweetest fruit.”

The Fire Lord is quiet for a few moments. “I need you to brew it.”

“My Lord?”

“Must I repeat myself?” Fire Lord Ozai stands and glares. “I need that potion brewed. You have until the Princess Azula returns. Speak of this to no one.”

He strides out, leaving Zhijian stunned at the enormity of the task in front of him. The implications of it alone, of what has slithered into the heart of the very Nation, into the walls of the Palace and into the Royal Family itself...

There are few things in life that can surprise Fire Sage Zhijian. This is one of them.

—-

Perhaps, Ozai thinks, lesser men would be nervous. He sits in the room he’s prepared, deep underground in the bunkers, waiting for Azula to arrive. She has been told he wishes to review possible plans for the Day of Black Sun, explaining the location.

The brew he ordered from the Fire Sages sits disguised in a teapot. Ozai watched the sage test the brew on himself to verify his claims of safety. Ozai, after all, will have to drink as part of the ruse.

Exactly on time, Azula arrives. Not a single hair out of place, clothing perfectly pressed, and shoes shined to military precision. She is every inch carefully crafted artifice, exactly what he needs to show the world, a weapon forged by his own hands. She bows lowly to him, at exactly his due.

“Sit, Azula,” he says, gesturing to the low table in front of him. “We have much to discuss.”

“Yes, Father.” She complies quickly, and automatically her hands reach for the teapot, as proper etiquette demands. Ozai watches, face perfectly still, as she pours the liquid into two cups, and then offers him the first.

His gaze doesn’t waver as he sips the horrible drink, instead focusing his attention on Azula as she drinks from her own cup. She blinks, clearly surprised, and he watches with a numb fascination as she continues to sip as if she could not taste the profound bitterness.

As if she were drinking sugar water.

“Is this a new blend, Father?” she asks. “I don’t think I’ve—”

The cup falls from her hands and shatters on the floor as Azula chokes. Her hands come up to her throat, uselessly flailing. She looks up at him with frightened eyes, pupils blown wide so that only a thin ring of gold is visible before they suddenly contract into slits.

“Father...?” she croaks, then crashes to the floor.

Ozai stays seated, watching with rapt attention as the girl writhes on the floor. When the Fire Sage said that any lie would collapse, he did not expect such extraordinary results. They’ve outdone his expectations. And now he will see what it is that has slithered into the heart of the nation.

The girl’s spine arches off the ground, a fascinatingly terrible keening escaping her throat. It sounds quite painful. Something cracks and she screams, allowing him to see teeth growing sharper and longer. Fingernails lengthen and there’s a scraping sound as he watches the bones of her hands shift and rearrange themselves.

The girl’s (although hardly a girl now, is she?) thrashing flips her over onto her stomach. She lifts her head, tears and blood running down her face. A face with scales starting to push through skin, golden eyes with slitted pupils, and two black nubs growing out of her forehead. 

“F-fath-er...he-help...puh-please,” she begs through a mouthful of teeth that will soon be too many to fit as it is now. Ozai can already see her skull shifting to make room. 

It looks excruciating. It sounds it as well, given the screaming.

Ozai sips his bitter ‘tea’ and continues watching. 

“No,” he says in a break in her cries as she catches her breath. He will not tolerate weakness. Even in this.

She must hear the finality and condescension in that word. Her head snaps up and Ozai immediately leaps to his feet, fire already burning in his hand. Flames lick out of her mouth. There’s something equally wild and feral in her eyes, no trace of humanity at all. Just a beast after all.

(He is not his brother. He will not have a creature that is the perfect testament to his glory die wastefully under the earth. No, not when this glorious weapon has been bestowed upon him. He crafted the perfect firebender and the universe itself has decided to acknowledge this accomplishment.)

There is certainly no trace of the girl he thought was his child, none of that keen tactical intellect that was so very useful. No, all that is there is base, animal instinct, and that’s what drives the creature to leap at him, claws out to rend flesh.

Ozai was expecting it, really. Almost lazily, he traces the arcs with his arms, air crackling and stinking of ozone as he bends. The creature must finally sense the mistake it’s made as it tries to veer away, but it’s too late. The lightning strikes it right in the side and it goes flying, only to slam against the opposite wall and fall to the floor.

It twitches. Smoke drifts lazily from burnt fabric that’s becoming increasingly shredded as bones continue to crack and shift.

Ozai dusts his sleeves off before walking over. He nudges the creature with his foot. It continues twitching and shifting, but doesn’t otherwise respond. Unconscious then.

He steps over the body to the door and opens it. There’s a contingent of guards and handlers waiting on the other side, at attention. “Secure it,” he orders as he walks out. He has another meeting soon. And he should probably see what utter damage Iroh has managed to do to Ozai’s only heir.

“And get a muzzle on that thing.”

—-

Everything _hurts_.

Azula has had hard training sessions before, ones that lasted hours that left her feeling beaten and bruised, with every muscle pushed to her absolute limit. (Father is demanding, and he demands only the best. And so Azula will deliver him the best, even if it kills her.)

Somehow, this right now? Is worse.

She cracks open one eye and immediately regrets it as the light viciously stabs her. She slams it shut again.

Her head is _pounding_.

Eventually, Azula manages to get both eyes open. The room is dimmer than she expected, but she can tell she’s not in her bedroom nor is she in the infirmary. Her taste in decor is slightly more refined than “ugly stone brick”, no matter how much time she’s spent in the Earth Kingdom.

She shifts and stretches, muscles feeling tired but tight and strange. Metal scraps loudly against the stone.

Azula freezes and looks down.

What she’s seeing doesn’t make any sense. Oh, the sound of metal scraping is easy enough, considering the thick, heavy chains she can see and how they are connected to equally thick metal cuffs. What doesn’t make any sense is that Azula can’t find her hands. Instead, she sees an arm covered dark blue scales, ending with a clawed...hand...tipped with five wickedly sharp talons. Around the wrist is the cuff, which is far too small for the size of the arm it’s wrapped around.

Abruptly, Azula recognizes the sharp pain in her wrists and ankles.

With a certain kind of dawning horror, as Azula lifts her arm and clenches her fist, the scaled hand she’s staring at raises itself and the oddly-shaped fingers curl into the palm. The malformed hand does whatever she tells her arm to do. As if it were her own arm.

Azula screams.

Except it doesn’t come out _sounding_ like a scream. At least, not one that sounds human. No, this sounds more like a roar. One that’s muffled, and something digs into the sides of her mouth when she tries to open her jaws. She tastes metal on her tongue, something hard keeping her mouth from fully closing, and something scraping painfully tight to keep her from spitting it out.

She brings the strange, scaly hands (these are not _her_ hands) up to where the pain emanates on her face. Feels metal and leather straps, except her face is the wrong shape, except there’s no smooth skin.

Azula knows she’s breathing too rapidly. This is all wrong, something’s gone horribly wrong.

Think. Stop panicking. _Think_.

There had been a meeting, she had spent the morning going over possible plans and scenarios that she could present to Father...

Father!

Azula jerks upwards, chains pulling down on the cuffs and digging further into the flesh. She grits her teeth against the pain and focuses. She had gone to the meeting, poured them both tea...

Her heart skips a beat as the memory of excruciating pain crashes down on her. As the memory of Father just...sitting there as she writhed on the floor played through her mind. Like he knew what was happening. Like he had planned it.

Like he didn’t care.

No. No, that can’t be right. Azula is the useful one, the talented one. Father cares about her. That’s why he gives her attention, right? He has to care. (Except...she brought home Zuko. She brought home her brother with his head held high, not in chains like she was ordered. She _disobeyed_. And Zuko isn’t useless anymore. She can admit, never to his face, but he’s gotten better.)

A door creaks open on its hinges. 

Azula turns her head to see Father calmly stride into the room, torches on the walls flaring brighter as he does. 

“Father,” she says. Only she _doesn’t_. What comes out instead sounds like a hiss and a growl, even though Azula _knows_ that she said ‘Father’.

Something is very, very wrong.

Father stares at her with an intrigued look on his face. “You aren’t even capable of speech anymore,” he murmurs. “You’ve been reduced completely to this beast.”

Azula tries again, because he needs to know that there’s something wrong, that she’s still here. Again, the only sounds that come out of her mouth are growls and hisses.

“I admit, I had not expected the Fire Sage’s elixir to work. Surely it was only a fanciful tale told to a boy.” He shakes his head in wonder. “And yet, here you are. How long, I must wonder? How long have you masqueraded as my own child?”

What?

Father steps closer, and Azula can see an expression on his face she’s never seen before. At least, never directed at her. She’s seen it when they’ve toured factories to inspect ships and other war machines, when they’ve watched soldiers run through drills in precise formation. It’s the same look he’s worn when he’s planning on how best to use their latest technological advantage against their enemies.

“Such an extraordinary creature,” he murmurs. “For so long I didn’t see what you truly were. A gift.”

Azula breathes out. Of course. Of course Father cares. This is just a misunderstanding.

Father’s lips curl into a smile. “A gift from the heavens themselves, a sign of their favor on me. They said the dragons were gone, that Iroh killed your kind. Yet...here you are. Given to me as if you were my own.” He chuckles. “Iroh is a _fool_. But I am not. My brother may have been the last man to kill a dragon, but I will be the first to _tame_ one.”

He raises his hand and extinguishes the torches on the wall, suddenly throwing the room into darkness. The only light comes from the door and a skylight far above. Azula scrambles to her feet as he turns around and starts walking back out. But the cuffs bite and tug at her limbs and send her crashing back to the ground when she tries to follow.

“Father, no, please, don’t...it’s me!” she cries. But all that comes out are growls and hissing, not anything close to human speech.

Another man meets Father at the door. Azula recognizes him as one of the sergeants who specialize in training the especially-stubborn komodo-rhinos. Father looks back at her before turning to him. “Nothing that will damage its effectiveness. But I want it _broken_.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The door closes behind them with an echoing slam, and Azula feels something crack and shatter inside her. It. He wants _it_ broken. Meaning her. He’s done something to her and he’s not even sorry, he won’t even tell her why.

Like he...like he doesn’t...like he doesn’t even care.

Azula squeezes her eyes shut and tries to curl into herself. The chains tying her to the floor prevent that from happening entirely, but it’s for more effective than it used to be. Because she can stop lying to herself and admit that her body isn’t hers anymore. Of course she noticed the muzzle fitting over a snout covered in scales. Of course she noticed that when she tried to stand, it was on four legs, not two. Of course she noticed the Sun-forsaken _tail_.

She always thought she could be like a dragon as a child.

Azula curses herself for being so _stupid_.

—-

She loses time. The grated skylight up above is the only regular source of light, and Azula thinks they might cover it from time to time. She doesn’t know how far underground she is, or how big that hole really is.Her fire still burns, and she can still track the transit of the sun; it’s the only proof she has that time is passing at all. Because none of this feels real at all.

The sergeant comes and goes on an irregular schedule. She knows why. Knows that before a komodo-rhino can be trained, it must first accept that it is not the master of the relationship. That it is not in control.

Azula would rather _die_ than submit.

(She wonders if she will. She probably will. Her wrists and ankles ache constantly, pinched way too tightly in the cuffs that are too small to have been designed for her. So that every movement rubs the skin until it’s so raw it’s started to bleed.)

The smell hits her nose before the door opens and her stomach rumbles. The sergeant appears with a small barrel of fish, slightly old but Azula is hungry enough to not care. (She carefully decides not to think too hard on that one)

Their gazes meet and he smirks cruelly at her. “I see I have your attention. Want this, don’t you?”

Well, when the alternative is starvation...

She growls. 

He laughs, leaving the food just out of reach of the chains. Not that it would matter much, what with this tides-forsaken muzzle on her face. The stupid thing digs into her face every time she moves. It’s too small, not even designed for the shape of her _skull_ apparently, she can barely open her mouth at all.

Azula watches him warily as he pulls a sad-looking fish out of the barrel and walks closer. He reaches forward with his free hand and unlatches a small opening on the muzzle. It’s just enough to let her jaw open a little and snap up the fish he shoves through the slot. It is completely disgusting; she’s pretty sure if it’s not already rotting, it’s well on its way to that point. But she isn’t stupid enough to refuse the food, not right now. Not when she doesn’t know the game, doesn’t know when they’ll feed her next.

He gives her another fish.

Because it is a game. It’s a test of wills to see which of them will break first, which of them will submit. She continues staring at him as he feeds more and more of the fish through the slot, looking bored. He thinks he’ll win, she thinks as she examines him. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the ease of his stance. He’s too rigid, too sure in his authority.

The man doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. Azula can work with that. Let him see what he wants to see, let him use all his tricks for a dumb beast and waste his time. Break him down, instead of letting him do it to her.

The sergeant smirks. “That’s it,“ he croons. “What a magnificent beast. You’ll be a fun one to break.”

She snaps at him. It’s completely ineffectual, but it gets the point across. The smirk leaves his face, replaced by an angry scowl. (Not her fault his fingers were so close to her teeth, the idiot.) “Oh not so easy after all, I see,” he says before redoing the latch on the muzzle and striding out of the room.

If this is the quality of their komodo-rhino trainers, it’s a miracle they’ve been winning the war.

He comes back in a moment later, carrying a long stick with a hook on the end. He thrusts it at her face. Azula isn’t so far gone she can’t dodge, but she only has limited movement. Unfortunately, he is admittedly very good at his job. The hook snags a loop on the muzzle near her jaw. Azula tries to rear back, but the sergeant does something, twists his wrists and the pole in a certain way and suddenly she’s choking on air.

That stupid piece of metal in her mouth is pressing down on the back of her tongue, and she can’t dislodge it. He pulls the pole down and the pressure gets worse, digging and pushing in her mouth. Dropping her head down lessens it for a moment, just so she can _think_. 

Not only did they put a komodo-rhino muzzle on her, they put a _bit_ in her mouth.

He yanks hard and tears the edge of the bit across her mouth, sharp enough that she tastes blood, pulling her head to one side as if in submission.

This farce has gone on long enough. She is Azula, Princess of the Fire Nation, daughter of Fire Lord Ozai and Ursa, Conqueror of Ba Sing Se and she will _not_ allow herself to be treated with such indignities, especially by this man who isn’t fit to clean her _boots_ with his _tongue_. No matter what she looks like now, she will be given the respect she deserves, or she will make him _regret it_.

A growl escapes her throat as she twists her head around to smash him in the chest. She doesn’t have enough leverage to hit him hard, but it’s enough to loosen his grip on the pole. She hits him again and he stumbles to the ground. Azula feels something spark and catch in the back of her throat, and feels a rush of power and triumph at the familiar feel of fire running hot and soothing within her. 

The wide-eyed look of fear in the man’s eyes brings a thrill of satisfaction.

Then, something shifts. The man’s eyes harden and he lunges for the pole still dangling from the muzzle. Azula steps back, but the chains are too short, they barely let her lift her feet off the ground, certainly don’t let her get enough distance, and she’s not used to moving in this stupid body (in her new body) (don’t think about that right now). The sergeant snags the pole and pulls down _hard_.

Azula screams as the bit tears across her mouth again, then chokes as he pulls it back towards her throat. She falls to the ground, twisting in any way she can to relieve the pressure, get rid of the pain. But instead, the sergeant moves closer and grabs onto something on this Sun-forsaken muzzle and tightens it even further.

He grins at her, cruel and sharp, eyes gleaming with malice. “The Fire Lord said you’d be a stubborn beast.”

Blood drips down the muzzle onto the floor.

The sergeant tightens the muzzle one last time before stepping away. A whine escapes Azula’s throat as it digs cruelly into the flesh around her face and no amount of shifting can bring any relief. She breathes in deeply, closes her eyes, and tries to center herself, turn off the pain. Just don’t focus on it, use it instead. (She knows how to do this.) She opens her eyes to glare balefully at the man.

He has the audacity to laugh. “Such spirit. It’s almost a shame to do this.” He shrugs and gathers up the empty barrel and pole. “But my orders were to have you begging like a dog at the Fire Lord’s feet, so who am I to refuse?” 

There is a part of her that still thought this was a mistake. That Father wouldn’t do this, that Father knows Azula is useful to him, is worth something to him. (That Father would fix this.) It’s the part of her that was born when he first looked at her with something almost like pride, like she could hold the sun in her hands without it burning her. That if she worked hard enough, was perfect enough, he’d look at her like that all the time. (That’s what love looks like, right? That’s the look Mother gave Zuko?)

That belief has burned in her chest ever since. It’s the thing that drives her ever forwards, the fuel that keeps her going when she’s too tired to think, too exhausted to move, too hurt to crawl. If she can just burn bright enough, burn hard enough, he’ll reward her. It will be _worth it_.

That belief burned like the sun once. As the door slams shut behind the sergeant, leaving Azula in darkness, that fire finally goes out. All she is left with is the cold and bitter taste of broken trust and faith, the hollow feeling in her chest that feels carved out of her soul.

He doesn’t care. He never did.

She would have died for him, burned for him, and done it gladly. Now? He’s done worse than discard her, worse than throw her out. Zuko was thrown out, Zuko was the failure and sent on an impossible quest, until he came back victorious or with his tail between his legs. (But what was Zuzu without his pride? That glorious pride he shows her, that she draws out of him because she can and he _needs_ it. His pride makes him _worth_ something. Her brother is an idiot, but he’s _her_ idiot and there’s a part of her that is furious that His Tea-Loving Kookiness almost _ruined him_.)

Now? Now Azula is worse off than Zuko ever was. She wants to laugh, laugh so hard until she cries, at the sheer irony of it all. She promised him everything, didn’t she? Didn’t she? How’s _that_ for lying, Zuzu? Everything he’s wanted is his. 

Azula sighs as she lays down on the cold stone in her cell. (What else can she possibly call it?) There’s still some sunlight coming from the grated skylight up above. Maybe she deserves this. She disobeyed orders, after all. And the rules that governed her life always seemed so much more rigid, more unforgiving, than anyone else’s. (Why else was it so hard to earn Father’s love? To earn something other than Mother’s ire?) She should have known she wasn’t going to get away clean when she brought Zuko back free of chains.

Zuzu probably doesn’t even know what to do with himself. Like he ever did. Well, he’ll get to figure it out. Who’s he going to ask for advice? Iroh’s in prison. And she’s...well, the day her brother comes to her for help would have been the day Azula turns into a _waterbender_. 

He probably doesn’t even realize she’s gone. Azula doesn’t know if _anyone_ realizes she’s gone.

She’s going to die down here, in this pit, she realizes. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. Maybe not even this week or this month. But some day, she decides, she will. Father doesn’t care. He ordered that trainer to break her, as if she were an unruly komodo-rhino that refused a rider. Azula will die in this pit because she’ll die before she gives anyone the satisfaction of seeing her _break_.

The sky above is so very, very blue.


	2. fall from the stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko is Very Good at Plans.

The palace doesn’t feel right. At first, Zuko thought it’s just because he was gone for so long that he managed to forget things. Three years on a boat, surrounded by surly military rejects on a neverending assignment, would make a lot of things feel weird. It feels like he’s spent so long fighting tooth and nail for every scrap of respect he’s owed, that now it’s leaving him all wrong-footed when it’s just...given to him.

Zuko came home to a hero’s welcome and his father’s approval. To his title and his crown. To everything he’s been working towards for the last three years. He should be _happy_.

And yet...and _yet_...

Uncle’s look of disappointment stabs at his gut every time he closes his eyes. It seemed like the right idea at the time. Either choice Zuko made, he would have been betraying _family_. Uncle or Azula. And Koh take him, it was dumb and Zuko knew it was bait and the perfect trap, but Azula’s offer was _so damn tempting_ , he’d have to be a _fool_ to pass it up. (Did Uncle not realize what he asked? How could he not _realize_?)

And then...for once in her life, Azula _wasn’t lying_. By every sensible measure, Zuko made the right choice!

That’s all he ever wanted to do. Make the right choice. It’s just that everyone else keeps making it so hard.

Because it’s not just Uncle’s disappointment weighing on him that’s making him twitchy. Zuko is no stranger to guilt. (At this point, guilt is an annoying old companion.) This...this isn’t guilt. This is something else.

It takes him a while to notice, really. But three years outside of his sister’s shadow, not hearing his sister’s name all the damn time, he’s gotten used to that. So when he sits in meetings at his father’s right hand, when ministers and officials try to curry favor with him, it takes him a bit of time to realize that there’s something wrong with this picture.

They’re looking to _him_. They’re turning to _him_ , because _he’s_ the one that has their attention. No one else. Zuko’s not even sharing the spotlight with Azula. In fact, Azula is nowhere to be found.

At first, he thinks they’re just on different schedules (who knows what she gets up to in her spare time? He certainly has no desire to know, thanks.) But that didn’t explain the way the servants acted, or how the ministers who he remembers never shutting up about her now being weirdly silent.

Nobody even _mentions_ Azula. And when he tries to ask, all he gets are weak excuses to hastily change the subject.

Mai and Ty Lee tell him the same thing. They haven’t seen his sister either, and they’re also getting the weird non-answers. Zuko had enough of this kind of crap in Ba Sing Se to last a lifetime; he doesn’t need home to start it up. People, especially people like _Azula_ , don’t just get disappeared in the Fire Nation.

That’s probably why he’s so on edge that even Ember Island didn’t help. The war meeting...that just tipped him over. He can’t. He spoke up last time and burned for it. This time, he didn’t speak up and now the entire _Earth Kingdom_ will burn.

_Why does the answer keep changing?_

Zuko shouts wordlessly, spins, and punches a nearby post. The theatre mask on his bedroom wall glares down at him judgmentally.

All he wants to do is make the right choice.

And now he has to make another one. He has everything he thought he wanted, and he’s still not happy. Zuko doesn’t know what the right choice is, but he knows staying here and supporting his Father is definitely the _wrong_ one. So...

Zuko has to go. _Go where_ is another question entirely, and he’ll work that out after he manages Step One.

(He could go to the Avatar. They’d accept him, right? He needs a teacher, so that’s...something.)

He looks up at the sound of boots against the tile outside his door. He’s out of time. With the eclipse happening today, it’s the perfect time for an attack. As the Crown Prince, Zuko is supposed to be joining the Fire Lord in a secure location while their soldiers defend the palace from any invaders. 

It’s also the perfect time to slip away in the absolute chaos. All he needs to do is make it to the prison, free Uncle, and get them to the balloon. Simple. Zuko can do simple.

Simple is really good, because Zuko doesn’t exactly have a lot of time to do all this. He grabs a small bag of supplies he’d prepared and his dao before jogging out of the room (he knows how to survive on just the essentials). First step is to make it down to the “secure location” where his Father is.

Zuko wants to have _words_ with his Father. He wants answers. Why did he burn Zuko’s face? Why is he following this stupid plan in this pointless war? What happened to his mother?

What happened to his sister?

He grimaces. But it’s like an itch he can’t scratch, a feeling he can’t shake. He keeps expecting to see her smirking at him when he turns around, because he’s back home in the Palace and it’s too damn weird that no one is there. And there’s the little voice in the back of his head (the one that sounds an awful lot like his mother) that whispers that whatever happened to Azula isn’t right. They’re supposed to get along.

Zuko remembers when he asked Uncle about that same thing. Maybe his mother would have had a different answer, and maybe he should have spent more time actually trying to find her. But he _owes_ Uncle. So he’ll make the right choice this time and choose him.

(She’s probably fine.)

(Of course she’s fine.She’s _always_ fine.)

But first, Zuko will need to _find_ the bunker the Fire Lord is in. It would have been helpful if someone had actually shared a map with him of this defensive plan, but apparently, that was asking too much. Even a set of directions would have been better than the vague instructions he got. It had sounded extremely simple and straightforward at the time.

How was he supposed to know that it was a maze of identical underground passageways?

He knows he’s far underground, which seems wrong, but he’s not sure where he got turned around. Ugh, he’s running out of time; he can’t afford to just get lost down here. 

Zuko almost kicks the wall in frustration when he sees the door at the end of the hallway. It’s the first end of a hallway he’s seen down here, which sounds like where you’d want to keep something extremely valuable safe. Like, say, a Fire Lord. The non-descript metal door and walls are surprisingly utilitarian for his Father’s tastes. (Maybe he can learn subterfuge. Or some other Fire Lord designed this. Probably the latter.)

He cracks the door open and slips inside. The door closes behind him with a quiet thud, leaving him in a dark room, save for a patch of dim light from a skylight high above. There’s a quiet breathing, then the scrape of metal against stone.

Heart hammering in his chest, Zuko ignites his hands and shifts into a defensive stance. His flames light up the room and he nearly loses control of them in absolute shock. Because crouched in the center of the room, chained to the floor, is a _sun-blessed dragon_.

Zuko knows his mouth is hanging open, but really, how is he supposed to react to this? He could tell himself that of course it’s not a dragon, but then he would have to explain the creature before him with the long, sinuous body covered in dark blue scales, wings held tightly against its sides. The feet tipped with sharp-looking claws. The black horns and furry black mane and lashing tail and...yep, that is a dragon. A dragon chained to the floor with links thicker than his wrists, with a muzzle around its face that looks too small for it to be comfortable. A dragon that’s lifting its head, and tilting it to the side in _juuust_ the right way that it makes the breath catch in his throat. Gold eyes, slitted and bright like a hunter’s moon, burning with a kind of familiarity that seems bone-deep.

Later, he won’t be able to say how he knew, or suspected, or even came up with the guess. But when he stares into the dragon’s tawny gold eyes, Zuko can’t think of anything else.

“Azula?” he whispers.

The dragon stiffens then _nods_.

Which...what?

It’s completely instinctual, just an automatic reaction to the completely brain-bending thing in front of him, but he takes a step back. The dragon’s eyes widen and it (she?) shifts forward. Oh shit that’s a dragon, Zuko thinks as he steps back again and this time the dragon lunges towards him.

He trips over his own feet and falls with a yelp. The dragon jerks forward, straining against the chains as it (she) tries to get to him. Zuko’s breathing hard, because he’s not expecting this at all (how?) and he _does_ have a working self-preservation instinct, no matter what Azula says.

Azula. The thought brings him up short. He looks into those familiar eyes and, to his surprise, doesn’t see the malice or maliciousness he’s expecting. He doesn’t see a being driven only by instinct, by rage and hunger. There’s an intelligence there, and something else.

Zuko remembers once, when they were little, when things were warmer and maybe good but definitely less bad, they had gone to Ember Island as a family. Just the four of them, for once. He thinks he was five, Azula three. She’d stuck close to him for once, and he’d put up with it, because it made Mom happy to see him Being Responsible. 

He really didn’t want to Be Responsible that night, when he’d been woken up by a little hand poking his face. She couldn’t sleep, so she came to him before anyone else, eyes wide and pleading, and her favorite stuffed dragon toy gripped tight in one arm. 

It’s only years later that he realizes that this would have been Azula’s first trip without her nurse. Zuko was quite literally the most familiar thing to her. So she came to him with pleading eyes that hadn’t been made cold and hard yet. For that quiet trust, maybe the last time he had that from her, to be so blatantly shown.

(He pushed the covers aside and scooted over. “Come on,” he said. She looked at him dubiously. Zuko rubbed his forehead. “Just...come on and sleep here.”

They’d never really done that before. But Azula climbed up and curled into him, and it had felt like the right choice then.)

The dragon’s eyes now hold the same expression as his little sister’s did all those years ago, a quiet desperate pleading for Zuko to _do something_ because he’s the only one.

“Azula?” he asks again.

It (she) nods again, and Zuko has so many questions (“how?” is only the start) but what comes out of his mouth first is a quiet, “Have you been down here this whole time?”

She tilts her head. He guesses she’s needing a bit more information on that. “Since we got back. From Ba Sing Se.”

Azula hesitates, then nods slowly. 

Zuko’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth, as he drags the words out of his throat. “Azula,” he says quietly, carefully, not taking his eyes off her, “it’s the eclipse. It’s been weeks.”

Her eyes go wide, and she looks up at that skylight like she can see the sun disappear. A keening noise rumbles through him, and it takes him a second to realize it’s coming from her. The sound punches him in the chest, a terrible, terrible noise that Zuko honestly wishes he’d never hear again. And then it gets worse, because he realizes _Azula_ is _crying_.

Zuko doesn’t remember the last time he saw his little sister cry.

_Something_ happened, beyond the obvious. His sister is now a dragon, of all things. Somehow. (Zuko...puts that in a box to Deal With Later.) But more than that, whatever it is that happened to change her cracked something else. Because his little sister would _never_ have let him see her show weakness like this, this desperation and pain. 

And his sister should never be locked in a dark cell underground and chained to the floor. There’s only one person who could have done this, made Azula disappear so thoroughly from the public, throw her down here and have no one ask questions.

“Father did this,” he breathes, almost too quiet to hear.

Azula seems to hear him anyway and nods again. She tries to make a noise, but the muzzle holds her jaws closed.

Anger is a familiar friend to Zuko. It stayed by his side for three long years at sea, kept him warm in the icy waters and wind, kept his heart beating and his blood pumping when nothing else would. Zuko knows anger, knows the ache in his throat and burn in his chest.

Anger is a distant cousin to what he’s feeling. It’s like a firestorm has screamed to life in his chest, a howling inferno churning in his gut. It sears through his veins, white-hot. If lightning is the cold fire, then this is the opposite, this flame in his heart that will burn him to cinders from the inside out.

This is not anger. This is rage.

Zuko leaps to his feet and dives at his sister, catching her head between his arms. His fingers fumble on the leather straps holding this _sun-forsaken muzzle_ in place. The leather has very little give left, and the buckles are pressing into bony parts of her head. Azula thrashes a bit, trying to dislodge him, which doesn’t make getting a grip on it any easier.

“Hold still, Azula,” he hisses. Fed up with the buckle, Zuko reaches for his belt and pulls out his dagger.

Azula goes very still. He blinks, then notices her gaze locked on the blade in his hand. His lungs suddenly feel too tight as he sucks in air. (What has Father _done_?) “Azula, I _swear_ I’m not going to hurt you. I need to cut the straps. That’s it.”

She stares at him. Zuko wills himself not to move, to let his sister analyze him, pick him apart if she needs to. It goes against every instinct he’s taught himself, this willingly leaving himself open to her to attack, but the rage keeps him in place. Eventually, she nods once, ever so slightly, and tilts her head towards him to give him access.

Zuko doesn’t have to be told twice. He falls on the straps with a barely-restrained fury, just careful enough to not cause any further harm. Because he can see the irritated skin and scales underneath some parts of the leather as he cuts it away, places where it rubbed too much for too long. The straps fall away under the blade and then he’s able to gently tug the horrible metal parts away from her jaws.

(He feels his fury get stoked even higher as he pulls a thrice-drowned _bit_ out of her mouth, like she was a common mount to be ridden.)

Azula shakes her head violently as soon as she’s free of the horrible thing, opening her jaws wide for what has to be the first time in weeks. 

“Yeah, I bet that feels better,” he says. He kicks the stupid muzzle hard, sending it skittering into a dark corner. Okay. One thing down. 

A flame bursts to life in his palm and then quickly starts dimming. Shit, the eclipse. Zuko looks up and sure enough, the amount of faint sunlight streaming down is getting less and less. “Flame and ash”, he mutters. Azula turns to give him a dry look. 

Zuko ignores it, staring instead at the dying flame in his hand. He’s out of time. The plan was to confront Father right now, during the eclipse itself (yelling at the man when he couldn’t throw fire at his face seemed like a good idea). He’s not going to have enough time to get to wherever the Fire Lord is and get the answers he wants before the sun comes back.

The flame goes out, turning this cell even darker. Zuko shivers. Azula spent weeks here? In the dark, like this? That’s...his chest feels tight, like he wants to cry but he doesn’t. It’s a weird feeling, one he’s never really had before.

Not important right now.

Okay, new plan. He can’t confront Father like he wants to. So, move onto the next step. Which is finding Uncle and getting out of here.

Azula is still staring at him, gold eyes even more unreadable than usual. 

Zuko chews his lip and looks down. The chains are a problem. He’s not sure he can melt them or even weaken them. (if only he were better, if only he were stronger, why is he such a failure?) Uncle could do it. But is there enough time to come back? Probably not.

Maybe if he can weaken one link enough, Azula will be able to break it. That’s...plausible.

“Okay,” he says, grabbing her attention. “When the sun comes back, we’ll try weakening the chain enough for you to break. Then we can go find Uncle and — what, why are you shaking your head? Azula!” Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, I _know_ you and Uncle don’t exactly get along, but — _gah_!”

She snaps her jaws, nowhere near him, but it still makes him jump. He scowls as she shakes her head harder. Azula rolls her eyes, but then opens her mouth and breathes out. She closes her mouth and looks at him pointedly.

Zuko has no idea what she’s trying to say.

She makes a frustrated growl, then twitches her head towards the western wall of the cell and repeats the breathing.

The western wall. Breathing out.

(“Do you know why they call me the Dragon of the West?”)

Zuko curses. She’s right. (Of course she’s right, she’s still _Azula_.) There’s no way he can go to Uncle. Not now. Not if he wants Azula to live. Because the last time Uncle met a dragon, he killed it. He’s famous for killing the last dragons in existence. Well, almost, Zuko thinks, looking at Azula. Then grimaces.

Would Uncle want to finish the job?

(Uncle tossed Azula off an Imperial battleship. Sure, it saved Zuko’s life, so it’s not like he’s _ungrateful_ , but...not exactly evidence in favor of Azula’s continued existence if they go to him now.)

Zuko tugs at his hair. Why is this always so _difficult_? Can’t it be easy, just once? Just _one_ time, that’s all he’s asking for. Because again, he’s underground in the dark, and he has a choice to make.

Uncle or Azula?

(He just wants to make the _right choice_ for once. Just one time. _Please_.)

A soft scraping noise catches his attention. Azula is lying down, head resting on the tops of her front feet (hands? paws?), just watching him. There’s the strangest look in her eyes. She looks...resigned. Like she knows what he’s going to pick. Like he’s having a crisis over nothing, because she’s already figured it out. Which would be normal except...

Zuko’s not used to that expression on her face. And not because her face is now bigger and scalier. Azula’s never been resigned to _anything_ in her life. But she is, right now. She’s resigned herself to the idea that Zuko will go get Uncle. Like he’s been planning. Even though it condemns her to this pit. To whatever Father is doing.

Uncle or Azula?

His little sister has already resigned herself to Zuko leaving her behind. (Again. He didn’t mean to, he didn’t have a choice, but he _did_.)

The firestorm in his chest roars. Zuko snarls and lunges forward, grabbing Azula’s head in both hands and bringing his forehead down to touch hers. Gold eyes meet gold. “I am _not_ leaving you to him, you got that?” he swears, voice burning with a conviction he’s never really felt before. “Not now, not _ever_. I am _going to get you out of here_.”

Her eyes are wide, and the look of complete surprise and confusion stokes the fire inside him even hotter, until he thinks he’ll burn from the inside out at the force of his rage. Rage at the world, for putting them in this situation, for making him choose again. Rage at himself, for even thinking about leaving her to this pit. 

And rage at Father, at _Ozai_ , for doing this in the first place. For turning them against each other. For all the pain he’s caused Zuko, for burning him. And for this latest offense. Because Azula is _chained_ to the floor of a pit, isn’t even _human_ anymore because of what Ozai has done.

The rage is so potent, Zuko thinks he could breathe fire. It takes him a moment to realize he _can_. The eclipse is over; his bending is back.

Which means they’re running out of time.

He lets go of Azula and steps back. What to do? The chains are thicker than his wrists; it’d take too long to melt through with his fire. He doesn’t know if the invasion was successful or if there was one. Well, judging from the sounds up above, they’re still fighting. For how long, though? How long does he even have here before someone decides to come check on the dragon in the basement? 

This whole situation makes him want to scream in frustration.

“Azula, do you know how often they check in on you?” Zuko asks through gritted teeth instead.

Azula stares at him. 

“What?!” he shouts.

She looks pointedly at his hands.

Zuko looks down. And stares. That’s...he didn’t realize he’s so angry, he had ignited his fists. (That hasn’t happened in _years._ ) Except the flame isn’t the usual red or orange.

His flames are _white-hot_.

That’s...new.

Azula snaps her jaws, grabbing his attention away from the flame. She rolls her eyes and then raises a leg, somehow making the chains rattle accusingly.

Good point. Zuko decides he’s going to figure out that particular twist in his life later. Because it can wait, and none of the rest can. At least it means that his fire is hot enough to cut through the chains. It’ll have to do for now. He doesn’t know why he suddenly lost control, but that means that he doesn’t want to risk losing control of fire this hot right against Azula’s skin. Scales. Whatever. 

Zuko douses the flames when all four chains are cut, feeling strangely wrung-out. Azula doesn’t waste any time in stretching out for what must be the first time in weeks. At least she can move. Now, the only thing left to do is figure out how to get out of here.

He eyes the door as he picks up the rest of his pack from the floor and grimaces. That door is definitely way too small for Azula now. (Did they drag her in here when she was still human? It’s the only thing that makes sense.)

Azula lightly headbutts him from behind.

“Gah!” Zuko spins around, but whatever he was going to say dies on his tongue in confusion at the sight of his sister crouched down, neck stretched out and bumping against his hip. She looks at him, grumbles, then lifts her head up to look up. He follows her gaze to the skylight, then back down in time to meet her eyes again before she flicks her head slightly to the side away from him and then settles her head back down. 

He looks back up at the skylight. Wait.

“You can’t be serious,” he says, staring down at her.

Azula growls. Her tail twitches. Obviously, she’s not entirely thrilled with this idea either.

“Can you even carry me? Do you even know _how_ to fly?”

She lightly headbutts his legs again. Zuko sighs. 

Unfortunately, this might be their best shot. “This is such a bad idea,” he mutters as he swings a leg over her neck and tries to figure out how to both not fall off _and_ not accidentally strangle his sister. Eventually, he ends up almost flat against her spine, legs pressing against her sides and hands gripping her horns tightly. 

The first attempt...does not go so well. Neither does the second. The third time, she manages to get a few wing flaps in before slamming back down. Zuko grits his teeth and holds on, trying not to fall off every time gravity wins another round in this fight. (On the fifth try, he has to wonder if she even _can_ fly or if she’s been stuck down here too long.) Of course, now would be when he wants his little sister to _not_ fail at something.

On the sixth attempt, Azula manages to push off and get airborne. (Oh blessed hearthfire, they’re _flying_ ) She hovers for a moment, then shoots upwards towards the skylight. The skylight that very clearly has a grate over it. He lets go of one horn so he can bend, but feels himself start to slip and abandons _that_ idea.

“Azula!” Zuko shouts instead as they get closer and closer to slamming headfirst into that grate.

He feels her rumbling answer, vibrating into his chest. And he feels the flash of warmth before it happens, so he knows to avert his gaze when Azula opens her jaws and breathes a gout of blue flame straight at the metal above them. It melts instantly, tiny pinpricks of heat falling around them like falling stars but too small to actually burn them.

They shoot out of the pit like a firework, straight into the sky. The wind rushes past his ears and if it takes his wild shout with it, no one will ever know. There’s smug satisfaction practically radiating off his sister as her wings take them higher and further away. He knows he’s grinning like a madman, but how can he not? They’re _flying_. (Escaping. Away from the pit. Away from Father. Away from _Ozai_.)

Zuko can see significant parts of the city below them burning. The invaders got far before they were pushed back, apparently. He squints against the wind as Azula climbs higher. There’s a fleet of mismatched ships leaving the harbor, with not many staying behind. Either that means most of their enemies (the Fire Nation’s enemies? their allies? sort-of maybe allies?) escaped, or there are a lot more sunken ships in the harbor.

Zuko’s betting on the former.

Azula rumbles and looks back at him as best she can. He thinks she’s probably wondering what the plan now is, and that’s a _really_ good question.

This is at the “improvise” step of his plan. Which is really now the entire plan.

The combined fleet might be an option. It looks to be a mix of Earth Kingdom and both Water Tribes, so they’re unlikely to turn Zuko over to Ozai. On the other hand, they might just kill him instead once they realize he’s the Fire Nation prince. Was the prince. Who...possibly tried to invade their homes. (Depends on where in the Earth Kingdom?)

Yeah, okay, the fleet sounds like a _terrible_ plan.

He’s debating between trying their luck in a random part of the Earth Kingdom or a random island when he catches sight of a small speck out of the corner of his eye. A small speck of something that’s clearly flying off in the distance, too fast to be a war balloon.

Oh, Zuko would know that flight pattern _anywhere_.

He tugs on Azula’s horns to get her pointing in vaguely the right direction. She growls, clearly annoyed.

Zuko chooses to ignore it. Instead, he leans down and yells. “Follow that sky bison!”

For a moment, he thinks she’s going to be contrary or didn’t hear him over the wind. But then she takes off like a shot, wings beating powerfully with every stroke. Zuko buries his face against her scales (which are not as sharp or rough as he expected) and the oddly-fluffy softness of her mane, trying to protect himself against the wind. 

Even with their speed, the Avatar is far enough ahead of them that the sky bison is still a tiny speck against the sky when Zuko sees it start to descend somewhere. Well, at least they have a destination.

Which is really good, because Zuko can feel Azula’s breath getting labored. And her wingbeats are getting slower and slower. Flame and ash, she’d been underground and chained for weeks. He has absolutely no idea how taxing flying with him on her back is, but it can’t be easy.

Zuko risks a glance at her face, and sure he can’t really read dragon expressions, but he’s going to say she’s looking a bit stressed. “Come on, Azula,” he mutters encouragingly, even though she’d probably kill him for it if she could.

Instead, she flicks a look back at him, huffs, and pushes herself a little faster.

Finally, Zuko spots the island where the Avatar landed and wants to hit himself. Of _course_ he’d go to the Western Air Temple. Azula is equally unimpressed, given the snort.

Or maybe that meant something else. Azula’s wingbeats falter once.

Twice.

And then they’re starting to fall. Azula is panting, still trying to beat her wings in a rhythm that will even out their descent and having varying degrees of success. She’s literally shaking from exhaustion underneath him and still trying to push herself more.

Someone is screaming.

Oh, that would be him. Maybe he should stop.

Azula’s managed to slow them down enough that they probably won’t die. Instead, they skim the top of the trees and Zuko thinks that maybe they’ll make it when his sister falters again and they crash through the canopy.

It’s a near-miracle they don’t smash into a tree trunk on their way down, but Azula still slams into the ground and skids, tearing a trench through the forest undergrowth. Zuko loses his grip on her horns and goes flying, landing on his back in front of her, which very effectively knocks the wind out of him.

Unsurprisingly, this is not quiet. So when Zuko opens his eyes, he’s not exactly surprised to find himself looking up at the Avatar, the Water Tribe waterbender girl, the Water Tribe boy, and the earthbender girl. None of them look particularly friendly.

Zuko smiles and raises his hands awkwardly. “Um, hi? Zuko here.”


End file.
